


Bite Off What One Can Chew: A Collection of Writing Exercises

by Idamdra



Category: Shin Megami Tensei: Digital Devil Saga
Genre: Alcohol, Blood and Gore, Cannibalism, Gen, Implied Sexual Content, Language, Violence, alcohol consumption
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-02
Updated: 2018-05-02
Packaged: 2019-05-01 05:21:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 30
Words: 9,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14513439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Idamdra/pseuds/Idamdra
Summary: Twenty-nine writing exercises for practicing writing emotions and conveying them convincingly. All pieces deal with Digital Devil Saga 2 specifically, and each piece's summary will indicate what tags, if any, apply to the work at the beginning of each chapter.





	1. Introduction to the Reader

This collection is the compilation of twenty-nine works over the span of a month, each day having a separate emotion as a prompt. All of what is collected are incomplete pieces left at a drafting stage. Because of that nature, the depth, explanation and execution, editing, and how In Character each piece reads vary per entry. To keep the experience as authentic and as close to initial thoughts and formations as possible, no changes were made between the transfers of their original date of completion to the upload at Archive of Our Own, and will not be changed or updated in this location.

A brief summary will be stated in the beginning as Notes, explaining the specific piece’s typing, rating, characters, and word count respectively, because the varying nature of each work. The day’s prompt will be stated at the end as Notes along with author’s commentary, if there are any.

Thank you for the time taken to read the words and work.


	2. A Dry Shoulder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Character Study, Ficlet | Rating: General | Characters: Roland, Adil | Word Count: 332

Roland was not one to cry; he was one to go quiet. Even still, Adil had kept a thinned pack of pocket tissues zipped up in his vest’s breast pocket. They were originally placed there because Adil would notice Roland’s eyes go glassy during times when he thought no one was around or looking, but they had only ever been used when Adil needed to quickly whip his hands clean or Roland had made a small comment about his lenses being dirty.

           The tissues were not used very often, but they were used more often than his substitute plan. If Adil was lucky enough for Roland to accept his company, he would bring a beverage—hot to the touch, still venting wisps of steam–without fail. Roland’s speech was long, drawn out by pauses, and scratched against itself every so often. Adil anticipated the drink to sooth, except the times he accepted the offering were scarce. Instead, Roland would glance at it, wherever it was placed down, for a moment or two with features that were being held down by weights, to then ignore it.

           Adil never commented about the drink going untouched. The gesture was less for the idea of practicality and more in heart of being an excuse to exist as a body, a presence—a person—around Roland. That reasoning doubled with why he pretended–and not so pretended–to not notice it going cold by occupying himself with trite chores. Adil knowing to busy himself was a learning curve. On a few prior occasions, he had spoke up, asking about Roland’s wellbeing, how well he was faring, but he only ever received short, straightforward answers or broken, cryptic replies. Neither of those resolutions were ever in favor of Roland opening up. After all, he was one to go quiet; Roland was smarter than to set himself up to cry.

           But, he sure did not want to be—which was why Adil stayed, hoping the gesture would be enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 1, Prompt: Sadness


	3. “That big black ball in the sky…”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Character Study, Ficlet | Rating: General | Characters: Adil | Word Count: 328

The scowl that man—one of Roland’s comrades—wore deformed and pinched his skin in just the right places that the weaker and feebler of their fellows would surely have shied away from his placement. For the Embryon, it was trivial to recognize the man was always quite tight around them, considering they were very acquainted with hostility, but the surface had done something to him. It was the creases around his nostrils and the crevasses around his brow and the bridge of his nose that set apart what his face wore underground as opposed to above it. Attentive eyes with drawn-out glances shifted to a fixed gaze sharpened beyond any blade. Catching such a stare was as swift as getting shot at, like taking a bullet to the body before one would realize what was going on.

           It was unfortunate that the round object that hung in the sky had no flesh to pierce or blood for bleeding, because it sure made the man’s attention shift for them to it. Roland had referred to it as the sun, something they—the Embryon—had never seen up until recently, but he had also referred to it as something else—something else they had only known and heard in concept.

           After all of them had surfaced, the man had grumbled banter in exchange to his comrade, Roland; notions about how he did not want to believe that his God would continue to forsake them, even if the Sun decided such. On the worst occasions that happened to occur more and more, he thought that maybe He was dead. It would make sense; there was not many other options for a compassionate and merciful god to punished those who tried and tried again, giving their best effort. So, somewhere in his heart there was a crack large enough to allow the blasphemy that if He was not dead, then he would go and kill Him himself if given the chance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 2, Prompt: Contempt/Disdain
> 
> **Author's Commentary:** The closing for this certainly would have ended up different if I had more time at my disposal. It’s not sitting right with me. I know why it’s not sitting right with me. Because: I believe Adil still has faith in his God, that somewhere within all his anger and disgust, he still wants to hold on to his faith.
> 
> When he says: “That big black ball in the sky is no God of mine!” I don’t take it to mean that he doesn’t believe in a god or that there is no God, but quite the opposite, that whatever entity that was the sun was it was not the god of his religion—unless he had believed in Brahman of course, and unless he did: it would be true.
> 
> Because of that little snippet of dialogue (“God won’t show mercy to those who sit back and do nothing [… cont.]”), I headcanon that Adil would have been the religious type (to some extent). But, then arose the question: would his character realize that God had provided what he was asking for?—Because He had. It came in the form of the virus and in the form of the Embryon.
> 
> The dialogue in its original context is understanding that they need to act, and sort of a side comment towards Roland’s leadership up until that point, before he had taken the virus and started taking charge of himself and the Lokapala more fervently. But, for this exercise I had twisted its meaning, contorted it to form something completely different that I don’t agree with but went along with because it “sounded cool.” I had made Adil a follower who does not understand his own beliefs and how to recognize things for their importance and worth. I had made him into the man in the joke who had gone to heaven to face God because he had drowned from not accepting the help on earth that was given to him. And I am sorry for that. I’m unsure if that’s the type of character that he is, but I haven’t the time to make him anything else.


	4. How Human

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Character Study | Rating: Teen (Gore) | Characters: Roland | Word Count: 233

The stench in the command center alone was enough to make Roland want to vomit, but he could deal with regurgitating; he had enough damage done from practice. Facing head-on what the Karma Society was consenting in its command: not so much.

           Processed flesh and innards, and stale blood sent static gargling around his head. Some of that noise was Indra screaming a little bit too loud, since he had not yet picked up the knack to put it at bay, but just as much of it was wondering if this is what his men saw in him now. Blood crusted on the floor and on the walls. Meat sitting out, not to rot, but to ripen just enough so it tasted that much more palatable to the something else that wanted to eat. And yet, as vile as he considered the sight to be, how it catered to consumerism—how it was perfectly packaged like some product for a supermarket shelf—was what made his insides recoil the most.

           A wave of nausea caught itself as a clump in his throat—the inhumanity of it all manifest.

           For a brief moment, Roland wondered if his stance against it was even creditable at all, considering it was coming from one of Those Who Devour. Validity did not matter to him much; he would rather die than accept the Society’s stand anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 3, Prompt: Disgust


	5. It was What was Waiting for Him at the Bottom of the Bottle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Character Study | Rating: Mature (Alcohol) | Characters: Roland | Word Count: 359

They say that liquor gets better with age, but that claim only applies to when it is in a wooden cask. It was too bad that Roland’s liquor was in bottles of glass. They had been kicking around for years, at the very least since they were forced to move underground. Fragile, hollow, transparent—and there was something waiting for him at the bottom. It was unfortunate that finding out what was not as simple as turning the bottles upside-down, so he started with a glass of whiskey.

           At first it was how he remembered it to taste, but after another pour, it began to taste like lies—like deceit, like decadence, like denial. It made him wear his face like the label adhered to the side of that bottle, made for a viewers’ gaze to distract from the ills within by bringing it to their attention with carefully crafted designs and aesthetics. The longer he drank, the sweeter the lies tasted, reassuring those who had caught on that he had a firm grasp over the situation and over himself.

           He was not the only one that drank from the bottle, but he sure was the most fervent with it, for he thought the ethanol was quite tasty. Its burn was as potent as hellfire, the agony of sins cultivating within it, and the only way he knew how to fight fire was with more fire, so then he moved on to the bourbon. It was not until somewhere between glasses three and four that he realized it was the only way he could get himself to laugh anymore. A chuckle for his follies, a snigger on behalf of depravation, to end with a sniffle and a sigh as cheers towards his own deprecation.

           The longer the charade went on, the more hollowed the sound became. When his flask became just as hollow as its sound—or as hollow of a husk as he was—impulse from habit, and the other way around, dragged him back for more, to the point where he had grown numb towards reconciling with being the ruin waiting at the bottom of the bottle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 4, Prompt: Hatred


	6. Judge and Jury

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ficlet | Rating: Mature (Gore) | Characters: Adil, Roland | Word Count: 433

Adil held the grip of his pistol tight, palms sweaty, but that was why he wore gloves. The finger on the trigger was ready to pull it, but only in essence of placement. His eyes darted back and forth between Roland and that AI the two of them were transporting to the rest of its kind, but the end of the barrel only sought out Roland’s head. He was all too clear in the fake, fluorescent lighting in the Underground Cable, as were the spare Karma Soldiers that were dead on the ground, bleeding from missing limbs and torn open torsos, about ten yards in front of him.

           It was not as difficult to stomach watching that thing—the monstrosity—they had transformed into to do the deeds because it was a blatant visual difference between them and him. But, somewhere blurred between then, the fight, and now, the demon decided it could not sustain itself in that form anymore. It sure still wanted to continue eating regardless. Seeing Roland in human form, in human flesh, tear through one of the soldier’s gullets with human teeth sent more than one shiver down Adil’s spine. The rest of him had not shaken, not physically, because he was lucky enough to have had practice with their—his and Roland’s—test subject not long before.

           He had shot the man then, and he would shoot Roland dead now—without hesitation. At least, Adil thought such. Neither of them wanted to shoot the tester, and Adil did not want to shoot Roland. If he had declined to such a status while with the virus, Roland had told him to. Adil knew he had said it to ease his conscience about doing so if needed be, but he knew the feeling undergoing his joint and limbs. It was a paralysis, petrification.

           When Roland contorted and fixed his sights at him, Adil felt his heart speed up, beating heavy, in his chest and his breath stopped all together. Blood and innards were smeared across Roland’s mouth and neck, and his teeth were clenched down tight—very visible in his scowl—in efforts to keep him from going at his next meal.

           ‘ _Don’t make me shoot you_.’—Adil could only manage the words as thoughts, because his mouth was too tight to move, when he saw Roland start to shift about. Doubling over, Roland started to shake and hack up the very contents he had just consumed. A human stomach was not meant for any of it, Adil figured as he began to feel his own insides start to turn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 5, Prompt: Fear


	7. Forward From Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ficlet | Rating: Teen (Language) | Characters: Lokapala | Word Count: 178

Yelps and cries and cheers of jubalee passed around friends and family and detainees, who had long given up on the lives inside the Internment Facility, over their release. Thanks to the Embryon and to the virus, something so forgeigh, so alien, to the Lokapala and the Portland denizens resurged for the first time in a long while: a successful mission. It made leaps in their chests and heat in their hearts.

           “What’s the next plan of attack? The men have been rowdy. They’ve been asking me what’s what, one after another. They’re ready. They want to keep going,” Adil said in a thin veil of snide commentary that was meant to mask the vigor and fire and attention in his own voice. It must have been contagious. It was the same sound the men had, and the same sound that clumped itself at the bottom of Roland’s throat as he let out a smile, saying: “Raise hell—go into the City and give the bastards a run for their money. We’ll do the exact same thing: move forward.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 6, Prompt: Excitement
> 
>  
> 
> _There will be a ghost day (Day 7, Prompt: Arrogance/Hubris) because it had gone uncompleted due to life circumstances._


	8. What Paper and Pen-Work Could Do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Character Study, Ficlet | Rating: General | Characters: Roland | Word Count: 392

Roland would make faces when he wrote. The expressions were not ones that would cause concern for a poor accidental onlooker, but ones that were like glimpses into something no one involved could fully see. Sometimes it came as a turn in his lips, or a twitch in his brow; a constriction in his eyes, or a sneer with his nose, but more often than not, it was a smile—a soft one carried across his mouth in casual contour with eyes that were loose and light.

           It was something relaxed, unforced, that had been seen way more by unintentional glimpses years ago. Now it was reduced to sightings only from pensive pen-work. Greg, Adil, and some of their men would catch Roland on brief occasions where he would glance around like a light had been switched on in a dark room. The epiphany of what words would be written next, or as a small laugh to himself over something he considered to be silly or clever for his characters and stories would bring him here, but since he had taken up drinking, they became few and far between.

           There were few things that could get him to stop and forget: writing and drinking—and it was Roland’s folly for favoring the later of the two, because the former was far more pleasant and forgiving for everyone involved.

…

Serph did not think Roland knew how to smile, not in a relaxed state anyway. He had only ever seen it with the strength and sternness of determination behind it, but the smile was so slight on his face, there was the probability he did not even know it was there.

           Roland was scribbling inside a palm-sized notebook that he had kept tucked away in his pocket. He was writing something. For what Serph was uncertain. It did not appear as if he was writing to report anything, or to send a message.

           Roland acknowledged the curiosity written across Serph’s face.

           “I’d like to finish this crappy novel that I started writing. If you leave too many loose ends, then you’ll have all sorts of regrets in the afterlife.”1

           People in Nirvana wrote during leisure for entertainment—for fun. It was quite a concept for Serph to grasp, and knew Gale would consider it pointless, but Roland made it look like an inviting practice.

* * *

 

1.  _Shin Megmai Tensei: Digital Devil Saga 2_. Atlus Co. Ltd. April 5, 2005. video game.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 8, Prompt: Joy
> 
>  
> 
> _There was a ghost day (Day 7, Prompt: Arrogance/Hubris) because it had gone uncompleted due to life circumstances._


	9. Enough!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ficlet | Rating: Mature (Alcohol, Violence) | Characters: Adil, Fred; Roland | Word Count: 528

“Enough! That’s enough from both of you.”

           The words were strong, potent, and weighed enough to hush both Fred and Roland to near-silence.

           “But—Adil!”

           There was fight in Fred’s words. They were the type of words that would not back down easily, ones that rung strong because he knew they were justified. Even though Adil sympathized with Fred, he knew Fred was running himself into a fight he could not win, and chose to acknowledge it as defiance, letting his voice become a roaring howl fueled by fire.

           “I said enough!”

           Each of their stares were sharp enough to slice into their targets’ souls. They needed to be for the air was too heavy and thick for a dulled point to pierce.

           “Go on, Fred.”—Adil gave a tilted nodding gesture towards the door; Fred stood sturdy—“Go!”

           Fred sucked in a swath of air between teeth clutched tightly together, and said: “I hate you stupid adults.”

           If the door was not as heavy as it was, Fred would have slammed it on the way out, but his arms were not strong enough. Even the stomps to his feet were not effective, even with a concrete floor, but it was enough of a sound and show for Adil to discern when he was far enough away to where he would not need to worry about him over-observing any possibilities.

           After Fred was long gone, Adil turned himself to face Roland dead-on, arms crossed over his chest—and not in the relaxed way he would rest them while idle and waiting. His fingers pressed down with enough force against his sleeve that the fabric pinched and folded, while they themselves arched and curled. Roland had stuck himself between the frown on his face and the bottle that had put it there. His fist had been clenched in a variety of tensions all throughout the argument, and Adil had noticed all three factors, so he unfolded his arms and stalked over to meet Roland.

           He wanted Roland to see the flash of lightning in his eyes, and the storm saturated in his breath. He wanted Roland to see all the fine lines of every feature his face put forth, and hear the shock in his speech.

           “You want something to go at? I’m right here. Come o—!”

           Adil choked on a clump of air that had been knock out of him from a blow to the gut. It made him hunch over just enough for his head to tilt where Roland’s follow-up caught at and awkward angle and grazed down the side of his cheekbone. The fact that Roland had followed through to match the taunt caught Adil more off guard than either the actual strikes had.

           “This shouldn’t have happened. We shouldn’t have to be doing this.”

           While steadying himself straight, Adil grabbed the neck of the bottle and took it with him on his way out. His grip around the neck tensed and tightened as he approached the door. Then, as he walked through the threshold, he smashed the bottle against the corner edge of it.

           The smell of alcohol reeked as its contents dripped down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 9, Prompt: Rage
> 
> **Author's Commentary:** I’ve had intention to flesh this out—to say that this is a possibility that is not seen, but could have been, that there was always this as an option of what Roland could have been like—because this was one of those snapshots I’ve collected in the recesses of my thoughts for (probably) years, but I could never figure out specifics with what they were arguing about to get to that point. The intent was to have more brawling between the two, but: time restraints (on how to figure that out). I wish it transitioned a little bit better in and out of that too, but these aren’t meant to be final pieces.
> 
> [Afterward: this piece really made me appreciate time and the importance off not taking off more than I could chew. My beta reader had read this “off the clock,” saying that they were quite shocked and taken off guard. “[Roland] was kind of a jerk. You’ve never presented him like that before.” And, I think that’s exactly why I wanted to write it this way—the intent of Roland as a violent drunk—to get him to work in a way that’s left for question…. trying to form that in such a confined space was the downfall of this prompt’s piece.]


	10. Hidden in the Lack Thereof

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Character Study | Rating: General | Characters: Roland | Word Count: 181

Roland avoided eye contact when he felt a weight growing in the pit of his stomach. He did not keep contact when he was lost deep in thought as well, but there was a way to discern one from the other: to wait until he did. If he was thinking, he would keep his eyes steady once they returned on point; if he was fighting with the feelings on his insides, he would swiftly shift his sight between two or more points or persons. And if he was not careful, his mouth would grown thin while his upper lip pulled away, breaking his regular flat-faced façade.

…

Roland shut himself up when there was too much talking circling around his head. He tried to calm and hush himself by repeating to himself, over and over, that his thoughts were irrational and silly, but knowing was not the same as believing. Sometimes when he was not careful, he would comply with them and slip out excuses, justifications, between his teeth later. He did it in hopes of easing his insides. It rarely did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 10, Prompt: Anxiety
> 
> **Author's Commentary:** In the vagueness I missed the point and differentiation of anxiety versus worry. Typically they’re interchangeable in this realm, but I forgot about that, and put both on the list for two separate days, so I figured—guessed—that the intent would be to describe them in a way to differentiate the two.


	11. Casualty Count

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Character Studies | Rating: General | Characters: Lokapala | Word Count: 359

Fred did not cry when his father had died, maybe it was because he was younger and did not fully understand or because he wanted to be “strong,” but Greg’s men had. Johnny had cried, and Kathy had too; then, Adil and Roland had let out a few tears for different reasons, despite neither of them wanting to. No one had seen them do so, because they all had allotted their own time and space, but it was done with the well-off wishes of needing that hollowed nothingness that followed afterward. Emptiness was better than a hurting heart, except it was like putting a Band-Aid over a bullet wound.

           Johnny and Kathy had closed shop for the day and the one after, but opened up on the day after then knowing that it would have been what Greg would have wanted of them. People depended on them for their shelf stock for their necessities and livelihoods. Fred had lost a father, the Lokapala lost a leader, and the people of Portland lost a good man, a friend, among them; Johnny and Kathy did not want to take the Mad Mart away from all of them too.

           Adil had dealt with the pain through blisters and sores, festering on his insides that only ever callused over for convenience. Something in the pit of his person had changed. It was another piece of the person he once was lost somewhere never to come back, because it was easier to close doors when God—or Fate or whatever Power That Be that existed—was punishing him for having them open. A part of him had died, but a counterbalance was born from its mauled corpse—fuel to the fire of hostility.

           Roland, on the other hand, might as well have died. Those closest to him would have argued in poetics that he did, in fact, die alongside Greg on that day, and it was his shadow that continued to walk wherever he stood. Rumors said that taking up caring for Fred and leading the Lokapala was the last they would ever see of the Real Roland, and he himself believed and accepted such.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 11, Prompt: Grief
> 
> **Author's Commentary:** Grief is a sly emotion. It can disguise itself as so many others because everyone grieves differently. What’s the difference between grief and sadness, grief and anger, grief and apathy? It’s context. Emotions revolve around context. Grief specifically deals with loss (just like how rage is different from anger because of severity in the emotion). Most of the times emotions need specific incentive.


	12. Keep Trying, That’s All

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ficlet | Rating: General | Characters: Fred, Greg, Johnny | Word Count: 183

Adults were allowed to go to the surface at night. It made Fred wish that he were older, so he could go back home like his father had said. His father told him that one day, if they all kept trying hard enough, if they all kept fighting hard enough, they could all go back home, back above ground, but until then he had to stay put in their new city underground. To appease his son, Greg gave Fred an olive branch to hold on to until then, saying it was what had to be achieved to make it happen.

           Fred’s soft, child mind did not understand how a plant would make everything better, but he heard from his friend that Johnny and Kathy collected plants so Kathy could put them back where they belonged—except they kept continuing to die during the daytime.

           “We just gotta keep trying, that’s all,” Johnny reassured Fred when he asked about it. When he had seen uncertainty in Fred’s eyes about offering his olive branch, Johnny continued: “Hold on to that one. That one’s pretty precious.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 12, Prompt: Hopefulness


	13. No One to Blame but Himself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Character Study | Rating: Teen | Characters: Roland | Word Count: 248

He could not make it go away without trying by some other means, that feeling, that disposition, that gnawing irritation over himself; that he could have done something different to prevent what had happened that day.

           At the very beginning, he could have tried to convince Greg that the concept of the Lokapala was a less than favorable idea. They lacked resources, manpower, and skill; they would be nothing but a minor inconvenience at best against the military.  Except, that route was accepting a swift and easy end for everyone outside of the City and Society, so fate deemed it necessary to follow through.

           At the very end, he could have rebelled against his friend’s words and wishes, and stayed behind with Greg. Then, at the very least he could have given them a better fighting chance, and maybe if he had fought harder they would have both walked away alive. At the very worst it meant that they both would have died, but at least he would not have to live with the weight of Greg’s death being his fault and his fault alone.

           Roland was so adamant about believing such that he could not stand it, and he could not stand himself. For a little while, before he let himself go numb, he let everything inside him go tense and tight, trapping the loathing he had for himself, but there was a remedy for that criticism and condemnation. It came in the form of fluid ounces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 13, Prompt: Anger
> 
> **Author's Commentary:** It’s interesting to try and dissect Roland and Heat into oppositions of the same sin: wrath. Anger is interesting for it has passive and aggressive forms (there is a third, which is assertive, but unnecessary for this point). Heat mainly takes up the aggressive side (grandiosity, violence, and threats), while Roland mainly takes passive (apathy, evasiveness, and self-blame), abet those are mainly exposed in pre- and early canon.
> 
> It’s a very out-there connection, but finding mirroring between the two makes the direction of replacing Heat with Roland/the nature of them being the same party slot slightly more enriching.
> 
> Or, perhaps, I am misguided on what the many forms of anger hand how its manifestations work, and I could be completely wrong in say any of this.


	14. Measurments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ficlet | Rating: Teen | Characters: Lupa, Roland | Word Count: 412

“If you knew what I’ve done, Greg—”

           Greg—the name seemed to slip out of Roland’s mouth. The man looked like Greg in the face, forgiving a few features, but something about calling him “Greg” felt inappropriate. He wondered if he should have called him “Lupa” instead, but that way did not seem right either.

           “—you’d be disgusted with me.”

           But, Lupa did know. It came as side-view of knowledge received from sharing his Data with Gale; there was an exchange. The Data was selective, but it explained enough for him to figure out who they where to each other and what had happened with each other.

           He was able to recollect what Gale had seen when he had called out Roland’s actions. His entire expression widened and exposed itself of all his fear and hate and anger and anxiety. He was able to feel the remnants of Gale’s disapproval of Roland’s display and what the Lokapala had to say about their state. He was able to learn that Roland became a coward and a drunkard and a murderer. But, he was also able to recollect him holding up his hand, baring it for them to witness it possessing the same mark that, if Lupa looked, would be on his hand.

           “You did what you thought was necessary… Do not only measure yourself by shortcomings,” Lupa said, placing his hand on Roland’s shoulder, “How you overcame them speaks for your courage.”

           He had shifted his hand from Roland’s shoulder to the side of his cheek, cupping his jaw, because he had watched Roland’s eyes go red and his mouth pull back like a string wrung too tight. Roland’s reaction seemed as if it was done by command, for directly afterward he had barricaded his eyes by shutting them tight while he whimpered out a few tears and a sniffle.

           Gale had seen it through a surveillance monitor; the camera was an aerial view. Roland was heaving his breaths, covered in blood, and held a receiver to his ear. The rest of the experience was lost from view, but even in its unfamiliar setting, its strange placement, the reason and execution felt very familiar to Lupa and felt very familiar to Greg. And in realization, nothing could have made his heart happier.

           Greg let out a soft smile, hoping his reply was the reassurance Roland had been looking for all this time, and said: “I am proud of you, my friend.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 14, Prompt: Pride
> 
> **Author's Commentary:** I’m disappointed in myself for using the word within the piece. At the beginning of this I had this mindset that I wasn’t going to include a variation of the prompt emotion as a direct word anywhere in the writing, considering that would be defeating the purpose of these exercises, but I just couldn’t get it to sit right with me without it within the dialogue like that. If I had to have place it anywhere though, it would definitely be at the end/the last sentence, so I guess I can cut it half way with myself.
> 
> … This one is definitely more plot driven, so I seemingly completely negate the prompt emotion until the very end but… prompts can’t be done incorrectly, right? ha… What was it that I said about biting off more than I could chew?


	15. “God… What the hell is that!?”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ficlet | Rating: Teen (Gore) | Characters: Adil | Word Count: 266

Whatever that thing was, it sure did not care whom it was tearing through, whether it was Lokapala or Karma, as long as it was sinking its teeth into someone. Adil could hear screams, all to close to his current location, gargling in men’s throats as he had situated himself behind a barricade to operate his hand-held transceiver. He had only caught a side-glimpse of it before ducking down, but he knew enough to figure out that it was massive; massive enough where he could not tell if it was his pulse he was feeling in his body or the tremors from its footsteps.

           The pounding was steady and rapid, so it had to have come from his chest, although the rest of him felt oddly inappropriate in correlation to it. Calm, collected, focused on an objective: contact Roland. Give him a status update. Call for help.

           The rest of their men—the one’s that were still alive at least—had done just as Roland and he had explained before the assault for instances just like this situation: fall back; retreat. Except, he hoped to heaven and whatever was there that his men went the step further and escaped from the building entirely. Adil never would have guessed he had enough practice in numbing the emotional boundary when it came down to it, but that ability happened mostly because his threat had not stared him down—yet. When it had, something reacted inside him that was neither Fight nor Flight, but it was not as if he was allotted enough time to react much either way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 15, Prompt: Terror
> 
> **Author's Commentary:** I think I unintentionally mixed up the “Fear” and “Terror” prompts with each other, because Judge and Jury definitely reads more “terror” than this does. Whoops.


	16. Like the Fate that Their Foes Faced Before Then

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ficlet | Rating: Mature (Gore) | Characters: Roland, Adil | Word Count: 507

Adil was a good soldier, Roland reassured himself; he was quick to react in battle-heat and was more than capable of handling himself and standing his ground. He had handled himself, and Roland on top of it, well enough during a number of other squalls before this one, but something in Roland’s gut told him that his battle instincts were not going to be enough this time around. Adil was still only human after all, and the heavy scream he heard over the handheld transceiver was the same sound he was forced to tolerate since gaining his Atma. It was the sound of a death not nearly as swift as it could have been and certainly not as painless as one they fantasized over.

           Roland started to pick up his pace.

           The data stream of a Karma Soldier had crept out from the back of his head. Asura did not see visuals like how humans did, but Roland’s imagination filled in this sense of a fresh, but bloodied, corpse—its face forever petrified in a wailing pout, eyes wide open—mauled enough to where a few more tears to the neck would have severed the head. It was hoisted up in Indra’s grasp, and then they bit down on the flesh between the shoulder and the neck.

           Roland continued to hasten his step still, his heartbeat following suit.

           Then, a number of other fallen foes flashed through his thoughts, one after another to where they started to blur together. Indra was feasting on a small lump of corpses all in various states of dismemberment and disembowelment. The Embryon ripped into some demon-esque organs, barely bothering to chew for they were too hungry to consider savoring the meat. Except: it had to have been the other way around; it must have been Indra eating the organs and the Embryon on the others. Roland would have figured it out, but recollecting each hollowed scream and wail and cry that proved to be their enemies’ last living sounds distracted him.

           Roland felt his muscles go tense. Then, he started to suck in air as if it had become rather hot and insufferable, but there were only crisp chills with each inhale.

           Then, his mind had played tricks on him, composing scenarios and sights he had not yet seen. One came as a spatter of blood that had been smeared along the wall by Adil’s limp body sitting on the floor, cut open, waiting to get torn into by a beast. Another was of Adil slung lifelessly in between brambles of teeth, while the monster decided to tear his arm off and crunch on it in efforts to eat it whole. Then, there was one where he was not there at all. It was just blood and innards. All of the sights spewed in the grotesque green lighting of the Power Plant corridor.

           Roland plead for his faithful fighter and friend under his breath, his name hushed; praying a lost hope that he would get to see to him alive again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 16, Prompt: Worry


	17. 4:26am

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ficlet | Mature (Implied Sexual Content) | Pairing: Roland/Adil | Word Count: 638

_Roland had excused himself to the washroom, not even bothering to double check if Adil was still there sleeping in his bed, but he considered the most viable assumption was that he never moved. In sleep, Adil was as motionless as a corpse, and he often took the rare opportunities to soundly sleep in when they were presented to him._

           When Roland had woken up unexpectedly, he had not the slightest clue whether or not it was night or day or somewhere in between, but in all his honesty: he did not care. It was easy to loose track of time when the lighting always looked the same and the streetlights always ran no mater what hour of the day it was. The last time he remembered looking at a clock, it was 10:48pm, but that was not even close to the time he or Adil had called it quits for the night.

_The faucet was turned on, but Roland simply stood their idle—blank faced—as if he did not remember why he turned it on in the first place. Except, he did know; his mind was coherent enough to tell himself to wash his face, but was not active enough to have him follow the thought through. There was something there within the back of his mind and the back of his body, something he had seen creeping behind him for months now but never paid too much attention to it until now, and it was Nothing._

           Their night had been a mess—but not in the sense of their daily work, they had gotten used to that toil—and depending on who was asked the definition and reasoning as to why would change. If Adil was asked, he probably would have taken false blame, saying that it was something he initiated that offset Roland, even though he expressed no signs of discomfort or unease. In fact, Roland returned every kiss and coddle Adil had posed to him, moving himself closer every time Adil reached out for him, holding on to him tight, and when push came to shove Roland had not given Adil anything short of how he wanted him when they got rowdy.

_Roland managed to cup his hands, collect water, and splash it on his face, but he did not pull his hands away, so the water simply leaked its way out through small crevices and openings._

           If Roland was asked, he would not have been able to answer, but he knew enough to understand that something was wrong. He could not remember what the night had felt like. Adil—he had that soft smirk on his face at the beginning, and his heart could have been felt through his chest; and in the end, his breath became hot and heavy, because Roland knew just how to get it that way. But, Roland—he did not feel like there was anything different there, that it was a static continuity of before. Then, there was the realization—the dread—that it was difficult for him to remember becasue maybe he was trying to recollect something that never happened.

_Roland would have cursed at himself, verbally or not, but there was no anger in him to make the words worthwhile. There was no sadness for him to well tears over the tragedy either. There was just an opening where it all should have been, and he wondered why. He knew straight as fact that he trusted Adil, adored the man, and wanted to be with him for as long as he could. He knew in his head and heart that he would even die for him _if needed be_. But, for all the life in him, and the lack thereof, there was not one stirring of anything inside of him to attribute that love to._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 17, Prompt: Apathy
> 
>  **Author's Commentary:** Of course the one time that I do actual ship material it’s for the prompt to not have feelings and no it’s not commentary on how romantic or sexual attraction is some kind of pinnacle and should be a measuring stick, nor was it intended to come off as him not caring or whatnot. It was more over the matter of lacking half of something, but knowing it should be there.


	18. It Could Have Been in the Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ficlet | Rating: Teen (Language) | Characters: Adil, Roland | Word Count: 292

Adil had gotten careless with assessing his surroundings, forgetting Roland was in his company looking over various blueprints and dated maps, so he had started undressing his upper half. His shoulder had begun to agitate him, and cursed at himself under his breath that he had been a little too vigorous with his movements during the day. The hope was that it had not opened itself up again and started bleeding.

           When Roland had gone to look, he intended to get Adil’s attention to answer a question different to the one he actually ended up posing, but instead Roland’s heart had skipped a beat or two. It was not serious enough for his heart to stop completely, but his breath certainly had ceased from the sight of bandages wrapped around Adil’s left shoulder.

           “When did that happen?”

           Adil had visually jumped at the sound of Roland’s voice, but he was pretty convincing with the acting that the slight scare had never happened afterward.

           “Maybe a day ago,” he said, “from those Karma assholes. Don’t worry, they had a terrible shot. It got mostly muscle.”

           Adil turned around to face Roland whose eyes had become very alert and whose body became very, very still; his heartbeat was strong enough to where Adil could have sworn he felt it from across the room. Or, maybe, that was his own heartbeat he was feeling.

           “It’s only a shoulder wound. I’ll live.”

           It was said as if gunshots and bullet wounds were not how people were able to die. The casual disregard caused some concern to stir around Roland, but he had to excuse some of it. Adil was halfway right: it could have been in a worse spot—like to the side of center chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 18, Prompt: Surprise
> 
> **Author's Commentary:** I know nothing about bullet wounds. I’m just under the assumption hitting muscle is more convenient then it getting lodged into bone or something, but I’m pretty sure I’m also wrong.


	19. Term of Endearment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ficlet | Rating: General | Characters: Greg, Adil; Roland | Word Count: 327

“My son would call him that back when he started learning words. He found it difficult to remember ‘Roland,’ so he simplified it to ‘Roly.’ Then, my wife picked it up from him, and she started calling Roland ‘Uncle Rowley’ when talking to my son.”

           For casual banter, the comments held Adil’s interest, content in hearing what Greg had to say about the matter.

           “However, I would not suggest calling him by that name. Fred is the only one who can say it without him clamming up. He is older now, so I am unsure if that is still the case.”

           “Did he ever say why?”

           Greg shook his head in the negative.

           “I never bothered to ask him. I could tell it upset him.”—Greg let out a low, hearty chuckle—“When I had called him that directly to him, I could see the blood drain from his face. It sounded like he was at odds with himself once he managed to say something. He would not look me in the eye afterward either.”

           Greg paused once he noticed that the Man of the Conversation appeared to be walking towards them, shifting Adil’s attention to Roland as well. He had come as a messenger, explaining that the repairmen where looking for Greg to discuss something over a box of spare parts and scrap metal.

           Adil could not help himself once the conversation calmed.

           “So, ‘Rowley,’ huh?”

Roland felt his heart drop from inside his chest. His eyes dropped, too, but they continued in a curve to meet Greg’s own; Roland’s flat-faced glare trying its best to pierce through Greg’s tough hide. On his leave, Greg simply placed his hand on Roland’s shoulder and patted it with an apologetic, upturned expression on his face.

           Adil cut in once more when Greg was gone.

           “It’s cute.”

           Roland never had thought the term ‘cute’ was in Adil’s vocabulary, but the ease in his expression made the gesture sound genuine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 19, Prompt: Embarrassment
> 
> **Author's Commentary:** Every named character living in Old Portland (Underground City) is referred to by a diminutive… except for Adil and Roland. ‘Adil’ doesn’t have a diminutive to be called by, but ‘Roland’ does. Granted, I know he is not referred to as such is because ‘Roald’ does not have one (and to stay in line with how the Embryon’s names are not shortened), but sometimes I like to entertain the thought that it is because Roland doesn’t like being called by a short form/pet name.


	20. “They’ll get through eventually.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Character Study | Rating: General | Characters: Roland | Word Count: 196

Roland was always careful about locking doors. He would do it to make sure that whatever was pounding on the opposite side had to put a little bit of effort in if it ever wanted to break through. The first few times he had heard it, the banging was so loud and forceful he thought for sure that whatever was doing it would make its way through. It never did.

           Adil said that there never was any banging, and their men had agreed to that fact, but when Roland first started hearing the rasping against their metal doors, he had seen him start to sweat, stumble over his words, and rapidly glance between himself and the door; however, the longer it went on, the more Roland became numb and the less he reacted to it all. The most Adil found himself capable of doing was to be there and reassure Roland that whatever was doing it was not going to get through.

           Roland rarely took post at the gate, so that was why one of their men had to go and fetch him and Adil any time that the god-awful banging was more than a myth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 20, Prompt: Vigilance
> 
> **Author's Commentary:** Vigilance isn’t even an emotion.


	21. Who He Once Was

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Character Study | Rating: General | Characters: Roland | Word Count: 128

There were memories around Old Portland of a pair of men; they were friends who served in the Lokapala. Though some said otherwise, it was mostly that group which preserved the recollections of them: a telling of courage, another of commitment, stories of smiles on their faces, and the stories that would put smiles on their faces. The townsfolk talked of them in such esteem, but years had past since then, and now they only talk about them in terms of what-it-was-like and how-it-could-have-been. It made Roland sick to his stomach listening to hypotheticals and woes of if-circumstances-were-different, because there was a certain pain from fire in him for knowing that the man he so desperately wanted to be was the same as the man he once was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 21, Prompt: Jealousy


	22. Above Them, Below Them

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Character Study, Ficlet | Rating: General | Characters: Greg | Word Count: 319

The Society had offered Greg, and by extension his son, the opportunity of living above the soil instead of in it as reward for his services in the International Environmental Stabilization Committee. At face value, it was the offer of a dire attempt to maintain a lifestyle, as it was known to exist in the past: houses with streets—although none of them would truly be homes—with markets and a city square. It was the offer to be able to see trees and greenery, to walk around in daylight, and to see the sun instead of sediment above head. And yet, with all of those luxuries, he turned away the offer, because the surface was the Society’s, and they were far less accommodating to those of ill favor.

           He had lost his wife, but he had his son who had friends with families just like how he had friends with their own and some others where he was theirs, and he would not walk away from them for any amount of gold. Each of them kept the other’s step solid and smiles on faces. When one was sick or starving someone else was there to offer their hospitality; somewhere along the line the town stopped being just a town and became a tribe.

           The City lacked that necessity. Even with all of their luxuries, some citizens would write back to their friends and families who they had split from by choice, explaining how they were disgruntled and distraught, afraid even, and were always longing, left to feel alone. Or: the words were gossip and hearsay explaining how unsatisfied, unappreciative, and ungrateful they all were towards their circumstances and each other. Greg’s heart crumpled, crinkled, and creased—folding in on itself—because all of the agonizes where both their reward and their punishment, and there still was enough left of his heart to feel for them and their state.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 22, Prompt: Pity


	23. Diurnal Occurrences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Character Study | Rating: General | Characters: Fred | Word Count: 262

During the day, Fred made a point of it to venture out into the patches of green when he could. There was a spot outside the ruins of the City Dome that had sprouted trees, shrubs, and blooms, where he like to take the children to play because a patch of grass had begun to grow beyond it. It smelt of dry soil, but the air was crisp, chilled from a canopy of leaves above; far more pleasant to breath than when it was just dust.

           During the night, Fred found himself outside; idle, unable to take his eyes off the stars. There were so many of them. There were so many more from the little he could remember as a young child, since there were no skyscrapers lit by office lights, no streetlamps or headlights, nor signs or markets with bright lights for service. It was just light from the moon and the Milky Way, and he caught himself in the middle of it, because no matter how long he looked, he figured he could always looking longer.

           Because: his experiences were no longer just his own. Who they had lost were not gone, for they lived in the dirt underfoot and in the rain overhead; in lessons learned and in the memories gone. Those gone were in every bit and piece of his person, and that was why he could never get his fill of the daylight, the starlight, and everything in between, because he was looking long enough for those who had not lived long enough to experience it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 23, Prompt: Awe/Wonder


	24. Remember It For Later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Character Study, Ficlet | Rating: General | Characters: Roland, Adil | Word Count: 371

Roland had that same look on his face that he had when he could not find his glasses. His brow knotted in the way where the creases where deep and dense, and his eyes followed suit, in the later sense of descriptors, becoming as hard and raw as the storm-cloud color would have suggested if he were any other man. Except: he had not lost his glasses. They were still square on his face, in no need of any adjustments.

           This time Roland had been shuffling through a pile of scrap, loose-leaf paper and a pocket-sized notebook that he only somewhat habitually carried with him on his person. It was a very selective practice, but it was swaying to change with every forceful flip between pages, for he was looking for something that was not there. Every once in a while between flips, Adil could hear Roland exhale a gruff groan, making it harder for him to pretend that he was not secretly interested in Roland’s current affairs while working on his own.

           Similar instances had gone on for a couple of days now, each ending with him admitting defeat, and he combatted it by wander around the city—seemingly aimlessly—for a few minutes. The first day had lasted about thirteen minutes, while the second day he lasted twenty-five, before he found himself caught up in current affairs or something productive, forgetting about the scribbling he had left on his desk. Adil did not think to look what Roland was working so diligently—yet fruitlessly—towards, because he did not want to violate his privacy and knew that if Roland was willing about it, he was going to get asked to read it over eventually anyway.

           The third day, Roland had returned no more than six minutes after he left, but his face looked as if he had walked a thousand miles in dry heat.

           Adil decided it was an acceptable time to ask about it.

           “Alright, what’s wrong?”

           Some silence had crept in before Roland replied.

           “It was the perfect idea,” he said, walking over to his chair, “I can remember that much,”—Roland sat down, reclined back, and closed his eyes—“but I can’t remember what it was.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 24, Prompt: Frustration
> 
> **Author's Commentary:** I love Roland being a writer because: relatable content from relatable problems. Never trust yourself when you say you’ll remember an idea for later and not write it down. Unfortunately, I have not learned.
> 
> Initially, I had told a friend about how I had “a Good Idea” for this prompt day… but then many days (probably ~15-20 days) later, I then tell him how I had forgotten said idea, and he just sarcastically took the opportunity that was presented to him saying: “doesn’t that make you frustrated?”
> 
> Honestly, wasn’t that heartbroken over it, but: gotta run with it.


	25. A Soft Silence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Character Study, Ficlet | Rating: General | Pairing: Roland/Adil | Word Count: 254

Roland and Adil had been sitting down, slouched against each other at the shoulders, for over an hour. Neither of them would have guessed their idling to have been over fifteen minutes, twenty maximum, because somewhere stuck between Then and Now, they had lost themselves in a sliver of the space-time where that concept was inexistent. There did not seem to be anything at all there. No one was being pursued or wondering if there were bullets with names on them; no one needed to search for necessities they did not already have or plan ahead to prevent all of those options from happening. It was just them and that moment. A soft silence: stationary, stillness—it was almost alien to them.

           Adil had wondered within himself some minutes prior if he could leave or not, because he felt the pressure and heat from their arms touching and somewhere amid their rest that neither of them could recall, their fingers had interlaced themselves loosely—because they could, because there was a more than a second or two to allow it. Moving would have been obvious, and Adil knew it would have stirred against Roland’s comfort and shifted his attention away from that section of space off in the distance he did not really avert away from watching with weakened eyes. But, to his luck, Adil did not find staying much of a bother because if he had to sit in silence, he would rather have done it in Roland’s company than any other way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 25, Prompt: Serenity/Contentment


	26. He Inflicted Enough Upon Himself to Account for Them

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Character Study, Ficlet | Rating: Teen | Characters: Adil, Roland | Word Count: 318

A coward that is willing to confront faults of actions head-on does not exists, for they would not possess cowardice, so that was why was burdened with the task: Bearer of Bad News. Those of the Lokapala who were there needed no reiteration, so he decided to tell the rest of the men who were not first because he did not have the heart and head to confront Fred about it, and he requested that none of them said anything to Fred about it either. Roland needed to take up that task, Adil figured, if he could find enough of himself to tell him, but since their escape, he had become very avoidant.

           Then, to his dismay, the ones who knew Greg well and the more observant of the city-folk started speaking up. Questions about where Greg and Roland had gone off to had become quite popular since they had seen neither of the two for a few days. Some of the older residence would even sidestep into some story or saying on how they were good to each other and worked well together. Others had know enough of the two to attest they always accompany each other when there was the potential for danger as to keep each other in check. Apparently, when it came down to it, that thought was not as true as they had perceived, but at least it made explaining why Greg was not around easier for Adil because it was aligned, clear-cut, and factual; for Greg was true to character and death is absolute.

           Explaining why Roland had not shown himself had only gotten more difficult over time. Shock was the easiest explanation for the receiving end to understand and accept than the fact that Roland shut himself in because he was too afraid to face ridicule and scorn that he was certain would follow if he had explained it all himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 26, Prompt: Shame


	27. Days Off

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Character Study | Rating: General | Characters: Adil | Word Count: 228

Quiet days were practically nonexistent in Portland’s underground. Residential life brought its own burdens, but Lokapala life held a bit more stress knowing that they were the willing ones in biting bullets, metaphorically or not-so-metaphorically-but-certainly-not-literally either, and yet, on those rare occasions, most of them men were able to live those days as if the world and their lives were ordinary. Johnny spent his off days with Kathy and their daughter, while Greg played with Fred that would end up with him playing with all of the children in enough time. Roland would rest, typically alone to catching up on some reading and writing, but Adil: he felt like a fish out of water, gasping at air, and the air was the lack of thing he could have been doing. An itch would form all over his insides, without the formalized work, as if something had brushed up or tingle against his skin without anything having made contact, so he would sit—dazed—waiting around for the turning in the back of his head to go the opposite way, because it was all he could think to do, even thought it was not much. In the greater scheme, he had no justification to complain about an idle day for he considered no news to be good news—especially when the other option was possibly getting captured or killed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 27, Prompt: Boredom


	28. Lekhasravaa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ficlet | Rating: General | Characters: Adil, Roland | Word Count: 334

“How’s the book coming?”

           Roland’s response was a groan, but not in a way where the sound was an over exaggerated grunt bordering on becoming a sound not within human audible capabilities. It was more of a quiet grumbling that almost became a whine because he had tried too hard in holding the air back in his throat, but some of it ended up escaping despite his efforts.

           “That bad, huh?”

           Adil had read Roland’s drafts on several other occasions, and he felt bad for him, having fallen a tad bit short in the timeline, working on a novel in a part of his life where publishers and printing were commercial commodities that not longer held precedence. If circumstances were in his favor, Adil would have suggested for him to seriously think about finding professional editors with connections to publishers, but the most that was printed nowadays was kept within the Karma City because it was for the Karma City.

           “You’re too hard on yourself… you know, Roland. You’ve never given me garbage before.”

           Roland picked up his head and nudged at his framed with his thumb and middle finger to get the lenses in their proper places as effort to make sure he was seeing Adil as clear as he could be. His face was not bunched up as if it was pinched at a center point, nor was it that half-hearted smirk he would wear when he had some snarky or sarcastic comment to say. Instead, his face was clear and attentive—a pleasant resting position.

           “Do you want me to look over it?”

           There was a pause, not because Roland was taken aback or hesitant about handing over the draft, but because he was thinking about his answer, how to convey his concerns about the draft to Adil.

           “We could brainstorm,” Adil continued, “I can’t guarantee good ideas, but I’ll try my best. I know this means a lot to you.”

           The smile at the end of his sentence was contagious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 28, Prompt: Interest
> 
> **Author's Commentary:** I purposefully put in the line “You’re too hard on yourself.. you know, Roland” specifically because I know Roland says this to Heat (except swapping the names out to be apprpriate) if Roland’s your party member of choice, and I feel like he says it from a point of understanding (beyond his “sins”), so entertaining the thought that it came in the form him having been told that phrase kind of frequently by his friends.


	29. Penance for the Past Tense

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ficlet | Rating: Teen (Violence) | Characters: Lokapala | Word Count: 100

Their test subject was Lokapala. They were one of their own; the only thing left from years of service was their body, branded with a black bruise, warranting bullet holes, one to the chest and another to their head for good measure. But: there were three bodies total. Two of them were still breathing.

           The agreement was the outcome was necessary, deemed appropriate, but even with all of their rational and justification, the two left breathing wondered if they could ever make it up to the voice that haunted them, it saying that they did not have to had died.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 29, Prompt: Remorse


	30. Pyriphlegethon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ficlet | Rating: General | Characters: Gale, Lupa | Word Count: 380

“It was difficult to comprehend at first due to its complex nature and inconsistency. The same feeling was able to bore both strength yet softness, even pain and hardship, either singularly or all at once. However, experience makes its nature more apparent.”

           “So, you’ve come to me seeking advice of it?”

           ‘Advice’ was not the exact term Gale would have used in addressing what he was hoping to gain from the conversation, but he trusted in Lupa and his insight.

           Both of them had gone still, watching a horizon that would never change, but Gale’s silence was to listen to Pyriphegethon, its blaze stirring around Data as synchronization between the two, relaying information that was not from his origin.

           “You have felt this sensation before as well, therefor it would be correct to assume you would be knowledgeable of it and fitting for ‘advice,’ would it not?”

           Lupa’s expression softened.

           “Yes, you are right in assuming such. Gale, understand that everyone experiences and expresses it differently. I myself have felt it many times for many reasons in many forms.”

           Pyriphegethon spoke of the Wolves and of the Embryon, and how Lupa lead his tribe. There was honor and valor in trusting his troops, assurance they were capable of a successful mission, as there was honor and valor in oversight for wellbeing not because well taken care of troops were more battle-ready, but because each had a part of his heart with them. And, Pyriphegethon spoke of Fred, his son, and the message Gale was meant to say to him, but amongst all of that excess Data, there was a part of Lupa that Pyriphegethon could not speak over.

           Gale had and idea to why that limitation was, for there was something similar between their two circumstances. Gale experienced it as fleeting synchronization; understand David was behind him some ways away, in Jenna’s company; the smile on his face and the contentment in his heart. Lupa experienced it in the form of fixating his stagnant sight a spot in the distance among the farthest nodule where Roland had isolated himself for Lupa was the only one of his pair present.

           Then, the fires of Pyriphegethon had consumed itself, snuffing itself out, because what he was feeling was no longer Lupa’s say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 30, Prompt: Love
> 
> **Author's Commentary:** Talk about bitting off more than I can chew, yet again, for the last day, but I wasn’t going to get all the way here and not do something for the very last day. This is an incomplete mess, it one of those one’s that are really hard to explain and I would definitely need a month in itself to figure out how to make this one work the way I want it to. Not to mention I very much know Gale is OOC in the beginning dialogue, but I don’t care enough right now. These gosh darn things are all over. I’ll worry about fixing that if I make this what it deserves to be. Probably not, but maybe.


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